Weird things about new places

First, spring comes earlier down here. After 54 years in upstate New York, it’s hard to grasp the idea that you can safely put plants in the ground prior to Mother’s Day (and even that wasn’t always safe). Given that we really haven’t had the time to get our tiny tiny back yard garden plotted out (as that will involve finding a new home for canoes), we’re signed up for a community garden plot up on the north side, and already have to think about getting it cleaned up and ready for planting. In March. (Although official early planting begins in April. April.)

Despite that, we had some late snow that really pounded the bike trails so I had to wait for that to thaw before I could really get out. Traditionally, St. Patrick’s Day is my signal that the new riding season has begun, and traditionally, that means going out in some pretty raw weather and climbing up to Albany Rural Cemetery or around local neighborhoods in order to get some strength back into my legs. Today it meant almost 60 degrees (but with a wicked wind) and a need to search out some of those hills. Roads around here are tough (Pennsylvania’s motto should be “The Shoulderless State), and in case I had any illusions that roads are better maintained down here than in the Empire State, those illusions have been shattered. So spring riding is even more of a challenge than it used to be.

The light. The light is weird, or at least takes getting used to. After 23 years in one house, with windows everywhere, I could tell the time just by how the light looked in the house. I got to know places the sun only reached on certain days of the year, odd reflections that only happened now and again. Now we’re in a place with limited light (the lack of a basking room may be a problem) and it seems to show up in the oddest places.

“Jeopardy,” the only thing we watch that isn’t on the internet, is on at 7 o’clock down here, before “Wheel of Fortune.” Somehow that feels like it’s just messing with the natural order of the universe.

In addition, the only ads we see are during “Jeopardy,” and most of them are for the Pennsylvania Lottery. Unlike the NYS Lottery, where we swindled people in the name of education, the Keystone State swindles people in the name of helping old people. As such, instead of Yolanda Vega, each night there is a different designated old person who watches numbered ping pong balls pop up in a tube. Somehow this makes me sad.